


i'd hate to be your woman

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Body Image, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who’s Karkat?” she asks you.<br/>“Is that the name of the cat-bus from Troll My Neighbor Totoro?” you ask, “That doesn’t very East Alternian at all.”<br/>“Don’t be a douchebag, Strider.”<br/>“Don’t be clueless then, Harley.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. childhood dream

**Author's Note:**

> Now I know your heart, I know your mind  
> You don't even know you're bein' unkind  
> So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways  
> Just use me up and then you walk away  
> Boy, you can't play me that way
> 
> \- "your woman" white town

==> **Dave: Sleep on the bus**

Friday

8:17 AM

Your body is like clockwork; if you don’t get a proper eight hours rest at home it finds a way to sneak in quick naps. The school bus is crowded with everyone who bothers to attend school in the trailer park. You sit next to your palhoncho Egbert, taking the window seat. You yawn, listening to the bus driving troll with the ugly helmet shout at kids in the back of the bus.   

No matter where you are or your mood, you always dream.

You are nine years old again and you’re doing your “running away from home” bit again. This was before you learned to take things in Stride and chill the fuck out. You still wore your dumb pointy anime shades. You wear an old hoodie Bro bought for you from Goodwill that you only take off when it needs to be washed. You’re incredibly short. 

You’re also a moody little shit.

You’re nine years old, you’re a moody little shit, and you’re angry at Bro for undecipherable moody little shit reasons so (like a little shit) you run out in the middle of the night and head for the woods. You think you were trying to teach Bro a lesson, or prove that you could take care of yourself and didn’t need him hovering over you all the time. Or something along those lines. You’re not sure. Your young adult mind can’t fathom child logic anymore.

It doesn’t take long for you to get lost.

The woods around here aren’t completely solid though. The marshland expands every year and gobbles up more of the neighborhood while the city ignores it since they don’t have the funds to drain it. You hear Bro shouting at you to get your ass back home before he beats the ever loving shit out of you. He must really be angry because his odd accent pops up and gets thicker by the minute.

You don’t respond. You make the stupid mistake of moving deeper into the swamp, where there are no skinny trees—only low shrubs and muck. Platoons of mosquitoes crawl along your pale arms and legs. Mud and water invade your sneakers. Your foot sinks down into a deep patch of mud and you can’t tug it back out. You’re stuck knee-deep in swamp mud. You panic and start flailing your limbs; afraid of sinking down like in cartoon quicksand.

That’s honestly not the thing to be scared of here, because you hear a loud growl.

You look up and see the beast thumping over to you. Its twelve feet tall with long rigid carapaced legs; hard flesh white like albumen. Foam dribbles out of its fanged jaw. Its stalk eyes are damaged with scrapes and bites, the left one crusted over with a cyst. It hisses at you, snapping a claw.

As if it’s practicing for your throat.

You’re too much of a chickenshit to even scream. You make a panicky, rasping cough. In the distance, you hear Bro hollering your name. The rabid lusus growls louder. A claw reaches out for you.  

The air cracks like thunder. Gunpowder stings your nose. The lusus’s skull explodes in a shower of dark green blood and pale globular organs. The right side of your face is splashed with emerald. Warm. Sticky. Globs of lusus brain matter in your hair.

The lusus collapses, sending up a wave of swamp water that douses you from head down. Behind the colossal lusus is a tall man with hair on his legs and arms. He aims a smoking pistol at the now dead beast. He looks at you and laughs. He twirls the gun around his thick fingers,

“Cheerio, chaps! Didn’t expect to encounter neighbors in my neck of the woods!”  

You hear Bro behind you mumbling, “Holy fucking shit. What…a _shot_.” which is his way of saying, “What a fucking _man.”_

You wake up when the bus comes to a screeching halt.

John shakes your shoulder. “Dave? You nodded off there.”

You sit up and push your shades up on your face. “Yeah, I’m fine Egbert. Just didn’t get the proper eight hours.”

“With all the noise going on last night? I’m surprised _anyone_ got to sleep.” He gives you his patented bucktoothed grin, “Do you think we’ll be on COPS or New Jack 911 this week?”

“New episodes don’t premier until Saturday night. It’s either us or that gas station Dairy Mart that got held up on Fifth for the third time this month.”  

The both of you shuffle off the bus and into the mingled sea of trolls, humans, carapaces, amphibians, and reptiles in front of the school. Anyone from Old Earth would be confused as fuck to see your school but you don’t bat an eyelash.

After all, public school is still public school.

* * *

9:24 AM

Your study hall nap is interrupted by yet another visit from Harley. You’re sitting in the back of the library where you’re supposed to be locating well-worn copies of Heart of Darkness and The Poisonwood Bible for your English final. Instead you’re catching forty winks in an old armchair. You feel a steel toed boot nudge your foot and snort, eyes slowly opening. Harley is glaring down at you; as if you’re the asshole who’s ruining her nap time.

“Who’s Karkat?” she asks you.

“Is that the name of the cat-bus from Troll My Neighbor Totoro?” you ask, “That doesn’t very East Alternian at all.”  

“Don’t be a douchebag, Strider.”

“Don’t be clueless then, Harley.” You smirk, “You met him last night.”

Harley raises an eyebrow. “The short chubby troll with the weird little horns?”

“It’s not weird. It’s a mutantblood trait apparently.”

“You know a lot about trolls.”

“So do you.”

Harley knots her hands on her hips. “How long are you going to keep doing this, Dave?”

“Doing what?”

“ _Ugh!_ Stop pretending you don’t know what you’re doing already! It’s not cool or ironic! It’s just dickish!” Someone shushes her from a study desk two feet away. Harley glares at them and then turns her daggers back toward you.

You sit back in the arm chair, “Harley, I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not my fault my Strider swag brings all the short trolls to the yard and you don’t like admitting that you find them attractive, even though that little grease-monkey pal of yours totally wants to fuck you.”

You pause and rub your chin, “Though with those giant horns, he’d be a grease _deer_ wouldn’t he?”

“Dave, don’t be a jealous dick. I already told you Tsuris and me are strictly just friends.” Harley whispers between clenched teeth, “I’m _not_ _attracted_ to _trolls_. I’m strictly human-on-human like John.”

“John’s kissed Vriska.” you point out and the way Harley’s face darkens when she blushes is fucking adorable. You remember Karkat wearing the same expression when you first climbed into the bathtub with him, teasing him about how he wasn’t too shy about stripping off his clothes if he was getting fucked but when it came to getting clean he was suddenly a nervous little virgin all over again.

“ _I’m not John!”_ The person at the desk tries to shush her again but they receive a greeting from the only finger that matters to Harley. “There’s nothing unusual about just being attracted to humans and not being into that…that _xenostuff_! That’s not me, okay? And I don’t think it’s right for you to string Karkat along just to be a jerk to me. Trolls take their quadrants seriously. What if he thinks of you as his boyfriend and you were just circle-jerking him around? Trolls _kill_ over quadrants, idiot.”

Huh.

You had not considered that.

You and Karkat have been fucking constantly for the past two days and you hadn’t thought much of it since he’s on his fertility cycle. You always assumed trolls just fucked each other and broke it off after they were finally knocked up.

But you can’t knock Karkat up.

Which means you two could just keep fucking in an infinite loop with no consequences. Now that you think about it, why would trolls even be attracted to humans if their instincts are telling them to breed? Shit, this sort of heavy thinking is more in Lalonde’s department. Unfortunately you don’t know where she is right now. She’s been a ghost in school nowadays.  

When you don’t respond to Harley, her eyes roll skyward and walks away. She’s been raised not to swear but you think you hear her muttering “stupid fucking idiot” under her breath.

You can’t help but watch her ass wiggle in those jeans as she leaves.

_Gods. Damn._

* * *

11:42 AM

In the middle of a semester review for Early New Earth History, your palmhusk vibrates. Your Trollichum app is flashing. What in fuck could it be now? You hope it’s not Karkat begging you to rescue him from Jake and Bro.

 

\--gardenGnostic[GG] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG]!—

TG: you are like the last person i want to hear from right now

GG: dave i cant find rose

GG: shes not in class and shes not in the library and im worried!!

TG: lalondes a big girl she can take care of herself

GG: i just want to make sure shes okay

GG: id keep looking but ive got a calc test to review for :(

GG: and john is trying to memorize lines for his one act and rewriting an essay sooooo

GG: help?

GG: pleeeeease :)

TG: i got class of my own yknow

GG: dave!!

TG: what

GG: rose is our friend! shes been our friend since kindergarten!!  

GG: she keeps disappearing and she didnt even show up for english this time!!

 

You pause, looking over the words carefully. When Lalonde skips out on her verbose love of the written word, something is definitely wrong.

 

TG: fine ill go look for her

GG: thank you dave <3

TG: is that a platonic heart or something else

GG:……

\--gardenGnostic[GG] has ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]!-—

 

Of course she would do that. You’re not even surprised anymore. You’re starting to wonder if trolls have the right idea sectioning off their relationships into anal-retentive quadrants. Teenaged human relationships are a tangled mess—like dumping a box of neatly organized pictures on the floor and letting some strangers vaguely guess what order they were originally in.

You’re not sure what category you would place Harley in. Longtime friend? Fuck buddy with love-hate benefits?

Thinking about Karkat is even more complicated because your concept of troll quadrants has been gleamed from soap operas and that Cultural Appreciation seminar you all had to sit through last year (that you’re sure no one, not even the trolls, appreciated). Would you two be considered flush or pitch? How does pitch even fucking work?

This isn’t the time to think about that though.

You manage to ease out of class saying you’re getting another migraine from the fluorescent lights again. The teacher isn’t going to debate you on that excuse since you’re blind and illiterate as fuck without your shades.

You wander around the school in search of Lalonde. She’s not in her usual haunts though so you act on your hunch and head down to the second floor. The second floor was where they had the science classes and labs—until Hurricane Calliope flooded and destroyed them beyond possible repair two years ago.

Now only two science labs remained. Three of the classrooms had been cleaned up and reserved for club meetings.

No time for reminiscing through; you have to get to the costume and prop storage room. The costume and prop storage room is in the back of the old computer room. You remember hanging out there with Mr. Pitter and the rest of the informal computer club before Calliope.

The lock on the costume and prop storage room door isn’t a problem. John and you have broken in a thousand times before and the Drama teacher honestly does not give two fucks.

The storage room is massive. Originally old pieces of tech and electronics were kept back here, but with the destruction of the lab, the Drama Club quickly infected and conquered it. There are racks of clothes and costumes fancy, casual, and historically accurate. There are tables, booths, signs, couches, plastic swords, tablecloths, curtains, tap shoes, antique radios, and anything else you could possibly need for a play.

Rose sits on a musty plaid couch. She’s not reading or writing. She’s just sitting there, black nails picking at the velvet in her dress.

“It’s odd sitting on a piece of furniture you’ve seen on stage.” Rose says. She won’t look at you, “It’s as if I’m sitting in a film, even though this is theatre.”

“Death of a Salesman. John was good in it as Happy Loman.”

Rose doesn’t respond.

You sit next to her. She still doesn’t look at you. Shit. She’s completely shut down right now. Lalonde might as well be perched inside of a dark tower built into the rocky northern cliffs of the Mainland. You drum your fingers on the armrest, raising a cloud of dust.

“John told me you helped him get into character.” you say.

“Yes.” she replies after a minute, “At first he had trouble perceiving the emotional range of utter desperation suffered by Happy Loman. The need for attention and the oppressive feeling of constantly being in someone’s shadow; the desire to receive approval that will never coming.”

“No wonder he had trouble. John is the sun, the moon, and the stars to Batterwitch Egbert. So how’d you get him to act in character?”

Rose smiles. “I told him to consider how he felt about his father, John Egbert Senior.”

You frown, “I don’t think he reacted well to that.”

She puts her fingers to her lips, pondering. “He didn’t see the connection at first but it took two days for the revelation to sink in. John’s father is a shadowy figure to him, something that has always been talked of in a high manner very much like how his mother brandishes her religion. I’m sure you’ve seen the shrine.”

You’d have to be blind as Terezi to not see the shrine.

You’ve only been to John’s trailer once, way back in middle school. His trailer was further from yours, closer to Park Avenue while you were closer to the marsh. The air inside it smelled strongly of butter and sugar. The walls were crowded with the most religious paraphernalia you had ever seen, like Batterwitch Egbert was in competition for “Most Signless Symbols Ever Collected by a Widow”. There were portraits of the Signless (both as a human and a mutantblood) on the dresser. There were wall scroll of him bound and suffering, bleeding from an arrow in his side.

There was a small cabinet on the wall right across from the front door; which was the first thing your eyes picked out in the trailer. Inside was a picture of what looked like John sans thick glasses and with brown eyes. Incense burned in front of the picture.

  


You shudder. “That was the most awkward dinner I’d been to. The way the Batterwitch talks about John’s Dad is like he’s still alive. John was just happy I still talked to him after going there.”

“ _My Johnny.”_ says Rose, making sure to mock the Batterwitch’s drawling the word as _My Jaaaa-hneee_. “ _My Johnny was always a hardworkin’ man. My Johnny was a paper boy on Dropsie Avenue and was takin’ nickels as tips. My Johnny was always a handsome fella even in gramma school. Lookit dis picture of my Johnny. This was him when we was jus’ thirteen. Li’l John looks jus’ like my Johnny.”_

You smirk. “Your accent’s all over the place, Lalonde.”

“There’s a fine art to mimicking the Batterwitch’s dialect; wherever it originates from.”

“So are you down here because John heard you mocking his crazy mom?”

“No. I am here of my own volition.”

“I thought the library was your usual hang out. Jade was worried about you; says you keep disappearing.”

“I think I’m allowed a moment of privacy, away from the mile-long stares of gangly giggling girls and strangers. There’s only a week left of classes, so I think I am permitted time of isolation. To reflect and study on…matters.”

“So you hiding down here has nothing to do with the girls you just mentioned?”

Rose stands up with such rapid motion that it makes the old couch squeak in protest. You get up and follow her.

“Rose. Come on.” you say, “You know if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, Jade and John will keep bugging you. You might as well tell me. At least I can keep it a secret from them.”

Rose stops where she is. She stares at the wall.

She startles you out of the silence when she starts speaking again:

“I’m comfortable in my own skin, Dave. I made the decision long ago to not fret over a few pounds or having to wear a size thrice as big as the average young woman. I’m happy with the way I look, and yet…despite my level of personal comfort, I still struggle. Often I wish to give into the temptation of a crash diet or exercise frantically. And yet there is another fraction of my mind that argues this would be giving into peer pressure. There are other arguments too: physicians saying my life would be easier if I were to shed more pounds, the monetary cost of plus sized clothes…”

She tilts her head a little.

“Which one should I bother listening to anymore, Dave?”

Oh gods no. Teenaged girl problems. How in fuck are you supposed to handle that? Last time you checked you weren’t a teenaged girl having body image issues (and that would be a special part of emotional hell for you if that were to ever occur). No matter how open minded you are, your brain can’t fathom what a girl would say to another girl.

So you go with what a Strider would say to a friend.

“Everybody else should fuck off.” you say, “It’s about what you want, isn’t it? And John doesn’t give a fuck about how you look, so why should you?”

“I…” Her voice trails off again, “…I don’t know how he feels. Admittedly, John is a man who is going places. His desires to go into film will put him in the company of the most attractive people in the entertainment industry. Thus I face a conundrum, knowing how superficial such people are in said line of work. Do I express my fears to him and risk sounding like an insecure little girl or do I bottle them up, where it can fester and manifest in different ways?”

You grab her arm.

“Rose. Rose, come the fuck on. You’re not a machine. You can’t just turn your emotions on and off. John doesn’t care about that shit. Just go and fucking talk to him. _Rose. Look at me. Come on. Just look at me._ ”

She slowly turns her head at you. Trails of dried tears run down her cheeks. She smiles weakly.

“But that’s the problem isn’t it, Dave?” she whispers, “I’m not a machine. I’m a human. I’m human and I’m insecure and I’m too afraid of rejection to even tell him such a simple thing.”

You don’t know what to do. You’re not the supportive type. For most of your life it was just Bro and you, and even with him around you had to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps and fend for yourself.

You try to hug her but it’s limp and awkward. She doesn’t hug you back or break down, sobbing into your shoulder. There’s no connection. No comfort. Only an empty gesture, like hugging a store mannequin.

Eventually she breaks away and wanders off without a word or second glance; like you’ve done something as forbidden as kissing her.

And once again you feel powerless to change a thing in the world.


	2. home is what you make it

2:06 PM

Lunch and classes come and go. You don’t see Rose. You wonder if she went home again, or found a new fortress of isolation. You sit at the library computer and look through Google Images, debating about what to use for your Chemistry presentation on the long-term effects of non-biodegradable materials on the environment. The image search doesn’t offer anything interesting though so fuck it; you’ll just take some pictures of where the chemical factory empties out into the swamp.

John plops in the seat next to you, yawning. You look at him.

“Being a theatre fairy running you ragged, Egbert? You were Pollyanna on the bus and now you’re the girl from Beetlejuice.”

“Theatre’s very demanding, Dave!” John huffs, “The end of the year one act plays are coming up and I need mine to be spectacular for a passing grade. It takes a lot out of you writing, producing, learning blocking, cues, and lighting for not one but _two_ one acts since we’re helping each other.”

“I’m surprised this school still has the budget for theatre when they haven’t been able to fix the second floor for years.”

“Well the great thing about theatre is that recycling easy and unlike other subjects, theatre’s pretty much been the same. Only the tech for lighting and special effects have changed. Plus, we get plenty of donations from the local colleges.”

You smirk, “Doing any Shakespeare for your one act?”

“What? No! _Bluh!_ My one act’s about [Georges Méliès](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges_M%C3%A9li%C3%A8s).”

You chuckle, knowing John had his fill of Shakespeare for the rest of eternity after having to do four different retellings of _A Midsummer’s Night Dream_. “Why am I not surprised…?”

“Hey, that guy was amazing! He was an illusionist and a great filmmaker of his time!”

“I know. _I know._ The first time we met you went on for literally an hour about him.” You look over at him, “John, have you seen Rose?”

John stares at you for a minute and his eyes look over to the left, as if the computer screen had the answer. “ _Um_.”  

“She hasn’t been in class all day, or in the library. Or have you noticed _at all?_ Is she even a girlfriend to you or just another chick you hang out with?”

“Dave, don’t look at me like _that_! I’ve been busy, and Rose isn’t in a lot of my classes!”

“No wonder she doesn’t think you care.” you grumble.

“It’s not like that and you know it. Theatre is _demanding_ , Dave! I’m not seeing much of anyone these days, alright? I talk to Rose whenever I can as often as I can online.”

“That’s not enough, John.”

John rolls his eyes, “Well it’s out of my hands for now then. The semester’s almost over and the one act plays are going up in a week. Then I have the rest of the summer to hang with you guys.” He turns to the computer, “It’s only temporary. Rose’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Dave, come on. Don’t tell you’re pissed at me for trying to keep my grades up.”

“I’m not.”

You are, and thank gods that John can’t see your narrowed eyes behind your shades. You continue using the computer in silence, ignoring John as much as possible. Eventually the Egderp takes the hint that you’re annoyed with him because he leaves after ten minutes of the infamous Strider cold shoulder.

 

 

You honestly could care less if he’s irritated back.

* * *

3:03 PM

You sit on the school steps and wait for the bus. You could try walking all the way back to the trailer park but your sneakers are too ratty. You only have a month left in them at the most and you don’t have enough boon saved up to buy new ones. You and John are still pissed at each other so you’re definitely not sitting together. You still don’t see Rose. Jade is talking to one of her other grease monkey friends. You pretend not to notice.

Having no one else to hang around, you make the mistake of standing next to Terezi and Nitram.

“Tavros! You have to get your character in-between Vriska and mine so we can break up!”

Nitram rolls his eyes. “Not gonna happen. The only reason you want to break up is to annoy Vriska. The only reason Vriska’s in flush is to annoy you. I’m not getting in the middle of one of your stupid pitchfights again.” He glances over at you and laughs, “Pyrope, your pet coolkid is here.”

Terezi kicks Nitram in his metal leg and looks up at you, flashing her shark-teeth grin. “Hey, coolkid! You smell pretty pissed off. Don’t tell me you and Karkles had an argument over how to discipline the children.”

Nitram snorts, “Reproducing already, Strider? The trailer trash in your veins must be thicker than marshland sludge.”

Your eyes narrow. “Nitram, Walmart called. They want you to stop fucking in their dressing rooms and stealing all their shit.”

“Part of the thrill is the danger of getting caught.” Nitram’s eyes are slanted. He smirks, “Wouldn’t you agree, Strider? After all, you’re sticking your stiff, inflexible human bulge in quivering grey territory, planting a nice little red flag among all the other flags on the rounded hill that is Vantas’s trembling mutantblood _ass_.”

You give Nitram a long stare, which he returns. You’re familiar with the look in his eyes; something you’ve seen in Karkat when you’re driving him up the wall and he’s secretly enjoying it.

“You shouldn’t use your literary powers for evil, Nitram.” you say.

Nitram laughs, “My alignment is actually chaotic good. I’m in the same category as Robin Hood and other likeable rogues.”

“Dave, ignore him.” Behind those crimson spectacles, you’re sure Terezi is rolling her useless eyes. “He’s been a pitchtease to everyone the past couple of days. He’s probably on his heat cycle.

“I’m just friendly. All Nitrams are.”

“Like your last name even means anything anymore. You’re not Troll Cassanova like your _grandfather_ was.”

“If _any_ of those stories are true.”

“Stories?” you ask.

Terezi makes a gagging gesture, “Let’s just say our grandparents had some lofty claims about who they were despite all the evidence saying they _weren’t_. Karkat could probably go on a five hour rant about it. I honestly think they all had delusions of grandeur.”

“Karkat could rant about the moon going around the planet if we let him.” you say, “And I wanted to ask you about troll quadrants and this whole fertility cycle thing.”

Terezi snickers, “What about it? Karkat draining you of all your useless white genetic material?”

“How would you know the color of human genetic material, Pyrope? You move up from just licking monkeys’ faces to their bulges?”

“As if you have room to judge, Nitram. How is your current cobaltblood boytoy? Did he beat the ever loving shit out of you yet for being a cheating dick?” 

Nitram grins and his eyebrows arch, as if he’s enjoying a private joke.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t really get the point of troll fertility cycles. He keeps wanting to have sex with me but I can’t knock him up. So…”

“So, what’s the point?” Terezi cackles, “Don’t tell me you humans just fuck to reproduce. Reproduction’s an _option_ for trolls. It not mandatory, like with your species, with your one-way-only way of having your pink wet babies.”

“Not all human babies are pink.” you counter.

“The point is trolls can fuck whenever and whoever they want. The pressure to reproduce varies on your hemotype.” Nitram says, “Warmbloods want to have more kids more often, probably because our lifespans are shorter. Coldbloods just like to fuck and forget to put something on their bulge ninety percent of the time.”

Well, talking to these two was about as helpful as asking Bro which island or peninsula your family comes from. You make a mental note not to ever ask Nitram or Pyrope about anything related to trolls and sex. You should just talk to Rose.

If you ever get a chance to talk to Rose again that is.

* * *

4:01 PM

 

You don’t see Rose getting on or off the bus so you guess that she went home early. John is still angry at you so you end up talking with the only person left.

“We have to do something,” you say, “Rose doesn’t want to talk to John about how she feels and John’s head is shoved up his ass when it comes to his career. He’d move to the other side of the planet if it was for a feature role.”

“Well can you blame him? I’d move to the other side of the planet if it meant not living in this craphole.”

You’re both strolling down Fordham Road from the bus stop. The pavement is cracked with overgrown weeds and even in this dry summer heat, some yards are still muddy. It’ll get worse next month when it starts pissing rain. The last time there was a serious monsoon, the sewer system backed up and no one in the park had electricity for nine days. Even with the anti-pollution and environmental laws, the air still has a metal-salt aftertaste and the wind blows the smell of sulfur and sanitizing chemicals.

You step over the split remains of a ram-lusus, not even looking at the dark red eviscerated remains splattered on the pavement. You’re not even a ten feet from your trailer yet.

“There are people who suck cock to get in this city and suck twice as many just to leave.” you say, “Why people bother coming here in the first place is a mystery to me. I always ask Bro why our family bothered uprooting from wherever we uprooted from and never get a straight answer.”

“After that last stock market crash, the other islands aren’t in better shape. At least New Jack City still has jobs.”

“For those who fits the mold.” You roll your eyes, “Come to New Jack City. Graduate from NJCC. Get a useless degree. Work in a factory, power plant, or chemical plant and die of cancer in your thirties from breathing in that shit. Maybe forty if you can afford health care.”

“Didn’t you hear? They only send trolls and non-humanoids to the factories now. They won’t hire humans anymore. The unions are pissed about it from what I read.”

You hear a bell ring and look down the road. A troll speeds down the road on a hoverbike, disorienting a small flock of Tinkerbulls huddled near a dumpster. He’s a teenaged troll, two years younger than you. He doesn’t bother with school anymore. You know him by his dirty emerald hoodie and stag shaped horns.

You jerk a thumb in his direction, “Is that the story with Bambi over there? His old man or lady spent too much time breathing asbestos on the job and pumped out a fucked up kid?”

Jade glares at you. “Don’t be an asshole, Dave. Tsuris hasn’t done anything to you and he’s normal. You just don’t like him because we’re friends.”   

“I don’t like him because one: I’m pretty sure he’s weird by _troll_ standards and two: you string along the hopeless idiot by being nice to him. I’m pretty sure he thinks you two are in a quadrant.”

“Like _you_ have room to talk about _stringing people along_.”

Jade puckers her lips and just gives a sharp whistle. Tsuris’s  head picks up and like any of her loyal mutts, the troll comes hovering right over to be by her side. He grins, showing his sharp fangs.  

He grins, “Hey Jade! I was just heading to Park Avenue.”

Jade smiles back, “Sounds fun! Can I hop on?”

“Sure, Jade!” Tsuris looks at you. Then looks away, nervously, “Uh, hey there. Um. Strider. How’s it, uh, hanging?”

“Fine.” you respond, in your most neutral, controlled voice, with the hope of hiding how irritated you are. You are failing pretty noticeably though because Jade rolls her eyes.

She jumps on the back of Tsuris’s hoverbike. She holds onto Tsuris’s waist and presses against him. Emerald blooms along the troll’s face. He nods to you. You don’t nod back.

Jade takes the initiative by sticking her tongue out at you. “I’ll talk to John if you deal with Rose. _See you!_ ”

“Uh, see you, Strider. Keep it hanging. Ironic and stuff, y’know.”

And they leave you in the dust. Jade laughs as she clings to the emeraldblood troll, hovering off to Park Avenue. Probably going to share a slushie. Talk about dogs and television and school all while he gets to make her laugh and smile. Not that you care about that sort of thing. You don’t.

 

 

You definitely don’t care about that.

You walk to your trailer, still not caring because you really don’t care. You especially don’t care or really hate that image in your head of Tsuris pecking Jade on the cheek, no matter how friendly and platonic it might be. Nope. Not caring.

Jake is currently occupying the trailer porch. He has a sleeping bag spread out under her and he yawns lazily, scratching his stomach. A stray dog licks his face. He murmurs Bro’s name and rolls over. You glare at the hound.

“ _Hey_! Get out of here!” you hiss.

The mutt whimpers and scampers off, running in direction of Jade’s trailer. Jake sits up with a yawn and looks over at you squinting.

“Mmmm. Dave? What’s with the yelling?”  He mutters. He opens his eyes a little and when he sees your face, he snickers, “Oh, let me guess—the Harley problem?”

“ _No_.” you say with a growl.

“ _Yes_.” Jake chuckles, “You two have been playing a game with each other since you were old enough to realize she had tits. You obviously like each other but you seem to like being a thorn in each other’s side more than being in an actual relationship. It’s like watching a courtship dance between two scorpions, or two caliginous trolls.”  

“Or two maladjusted humans that have no business being in a relationship with anything smarter than a rock.”

“I thought Jade was with the antlered fellow.”

You frown more. “Where’s Bro and Karkat at?”

Jake scratches his chin, “Well, let’s see: your randy brother wouldn’t let me sleep after running around all morning so he’s inside trying not to sulk because I’m out here. Karkat’s exhausted so he’s back in your room most likely.”

Wonderful. Now you have to deal with that. You walk inside the trailer and toss your backpack on the couch, crushing two smuppets.

You have no idea what to do about the small shouty troll who’s taken up residence in your trailer. You would feel shitty telling him to get out after what happened yesterday. You’d feel even shittier having to ask him what your relationship even is and what he’s doing here in the first. This is really complicated relationship shit; the sort of thing Rose should have to deal with. Not you. You are not the feelings jam guy. You doubt Karkat is either. You’re both men. Well, you both _act_ like men at least.

Fuck. You’re not even sure what to even say. You’re not even sure what relationship category you’re in. Flush or caliginous? You should probably ask Karkat what caliginous actually entails, or maybe you should have asked Jake. Fuck, you’ll ask him later. After dealing with Jade, Rose, and John you just want to nap and be alone.

You hover at the door of your bedroom. What’s even going to happen once you open it? Karkat will probably be sleeping under your bed—armed with verbal assault and creative profanity. He’ll demand who the fuck Jade is and why you’re obviously still hung up on her. Why are you dicking around with Karkat anyways? With the hopes of making her a little jealous of your own troll associate?

You take a deep breath and open the door. Might as well get this over with.

Your bedroom is silent though. Karkat isn’t calling you a fucktard or a douchebag and wondering what took you so fucking long or why you look so miserable. The troll is resting on top of your sheets, snuggled down into the softness. He’s kicked off his pants and only wearing boxers and one of your shirts—which are a little baggy on him.

You sit on the bed and nudge him. “Karkat.” The troll grunts and attempts to pull the blanket around him. You nudge him again, “Karkat. Come on. Move over. And take off my shirt. Where did you even get that from?”

“…laundry pile…” the troll grumbles again, not even opening his eyes. He rolls over and turns his back to you.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping under the bed? And why are you wearing _my_ shirt?”

“Comfy…” he yawns, “…smells like you…”

“Smells like me? And what exactly do I smell like?”

“My genetic fluids and ugly shades.”

“ _You’re_ the one who should smell of my babybatter since you’ve been grinding away on my dick.” You lay down next to him, sighing. “Shove over, fat ass. I had a long day.”

“My ass is not fat.” Karkat growls.  

You run your hand along the curve of Karkat’s ass which is far more soft and plush than you originally remember. That’s not just the boxers at work; that’s high quality backside that’s more comfortable than any downy pillow could hope to be. The fact he’s wearing Lopan Street boxers with everyone’s favorite childhood characters like Oskar the Troll Grouch and Big Beakbeast just makes the situation all the more ridiculous.

“Either your ass is fat or I’ve got bad news about the state of the muscles in your rump.”

The trolls shudders and rolls onto his stomach. “Hey! Let go!”

“You’re the one who’s wide ass is taking up room. I’m just pushing it over.”

“That’s _pinching._ Not _pushing.”_

You smirk and slide a hand up Karkat’s warm trembling thigh. Troll skin has a unique texture; some mutant hyrbid of leather and suede. It’s tough and soft all at the same time. “I’m doing both, plushrump.”

Karkat growls, rolling over. You let your hand slide. He looks at you with eyes half open. At least you get him to inch back on the bed so you have more room. “No, you’re not! And that better not be one of your hundreds of stupid nicknames for me.”

You grin. “What’s wrong with plushrump? You prefer cushionass?”

Karkat grumbles and headbutts you lightly, “Any reason I have to be plushrump?”

“You say that while wearing Lopan Street boxers? What are you—five years old?”

“They were on sale at Wal-Mart and Oskar the Troll Grouch is awesome.”

“Not when your bulge is wiggling around under his face. I’m surprised your trouser-snake hasn’t slithered out between his mouth, like a tongue. You could even have your own private puppet show.”

You trace a finger down his bulge. It wriggles; your finger waking it up from dormancy like a sleeping bear. You remember back in Health Class when you were first introduced to pictures of what troll genitalia looked like. The idea of having a prehensile dick weirded you the fuck out for a while but then you thought about all the things you could _do_ with it.

You smirk when you think of all the things you could make _Karkat_ do with his bulge. The mutantblood might growl and curse your name but he’d be purring all the same in the middle of it. You grin and knead gently at his bulge with your knuckles. Karkat squirms and takes a shuddering breath.

“F-fuck, Strider…” he gasps, “…I-I’m too tired to fuck, Strider.”

“Same.” You move your hands to his hips and pull him closer to you. You feel his heart thundering in his chest, thumping against your skin. “So what are we doing here then?”

“We’re taking a fucking nap.” Karkat murmurs and rolls onto you. He nuzzles against your face. His chest and throat vibrate in tandem as he starts purring.

“Not what I mean…” you mutter.

You look down at the Signless symbol attached to the chain around his neck. You pick up the symbol and feel Karkat twitch. All the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense and the purring immediately stops.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“…no.”

You hold the symbol up to the light. The dark grey metal feels too coarse and strong to be any cheap polished metal chain from Wal-Mart. You don’t think you could even bend it with body heat and time like you did to some of the others while sitting in the store bored.

“I’m assuming this means a lot to you.” you say.

Karkat’s eyes open fully. He turns his head and looks at you. His irises are bright red with maturity, encircling his grey pupil.

“It was a gift from my grandfather. He gave it to me on the day I hatched. It used to be his…he always told me about it whenever I held it up to him cause…I liked his stories.”

“What’d he say?”

The look in Karkat’s eyes is far off; as if he’s staring at someone a hundred feet away. You rub your thumb along the symbol, feeling the small grooves that come from something crafted by hand. Karkat takes a deep breath,

“He’d always said… _Karkat, this is Alternian steel. I forged it from the rich deposits in the deserts back on our homeworld because I needed a symbol of my leadership and dedication to the oppressed people of the lower hemocaste. This symbol mimics the chains they use to burn and torment the hands of lowbloods. It is not only the heated chains that afflict the innocent, but the chains of coldblood privilege and violence that weigh down those on high._

_“My followers and I slaughtered leagues of undead to gather enough precious metal. I spent many days and nights making this symbol, slaving through the immense heat of a crude forge and suffering the burns that come with such expertise. It will never rust. It will never tarnish. It will never break. It will always be eternal, like my love for you. It is proof of your true lineage, and now I give this to you. I know you will be a great leader, capable of astounding feats even I could not perform._ ”

 

 

“Alternian steel? Really?”

Karkat shuts his eyes again. The purring resumes. “My grandfather was the Signless. Not just a priest or another guy at the head of a cult out in the middle of Bumfuck Isle, but the genuine article. He could go on for days about what Alternia was like before it was destroyed and how he got his first followers together.”

“You grandfather. Was the Signless.”

“Yup.”

You let go of the Signless symbol. “ _Your_ _grandfather_ …was Troll Jesus, the basis for the biggest religion on the planet, and an international symbol for peace and interspecies harmony.”

“ _Yuuuup.”_

“Wouldn’t that make him at _least_ two thousand years old, if not _more_? Don’t mutantbloods only live to be about, sixty or seventy if they’re lucky? And wasn’t the Signless killed for his beliefs on Alternia?”

“ _Listen_.” Karkat growls, “If you knew my grandfather, you’d realize who he was right away. And according to my grandfather, Signless Orthodoxy is _complete_ _bullshit_. The Tome was written by the False Emperor to discredit him and the others when they showed up so no one would believe who they were.”

“…is that why Feferi punched you that one time when you two were arguing in the locker room?”

“Whatever. Religion is retarded, pagan or otherwise.”

“Agreed.”

Karkat pauses, “…have you been by Egbert’s trailer by the way?”

 

 

You snicker and rub the troll’s back. “Ohhhh _yes_.”

* * *

5:22 PM

You’re awoken by your huskphone vibrating in your back pocket. You try to sit up but Karkat is dead weight against you, smelling of sweat and cherries. You sigh and dig out the huskphone. Your Trollichum is flashing with a new message.

 

\--tentacleTherapist[TT] began trolling turntechGodhead[TG]!—

TT: Hello, Dave.

TG: hey rose

TT: About earlier…

TT: Thank you.

TT: I know I seem a little distant at times, but often I downplay how I feel because I don’t want to alarm others. Talking to you has always helped me though, no matter how…awkward it may seem at the time.

TT: Despite how I may act, I appreciate it.

TG: so what youre trying to say

TG: is that i dont hug like a dead fish

TT: Yes, Dave. You do not hug like a dead fish.

TG: make sure to tell jade that

TT: I will, though if memory serves she said that back in the fourth grade. You retorted that her butt “stuck out like fishtail”.

TG: she threw blocks at my head and i hit her with a book about womens suffrage

TG: then we had to go home for the day

TT: It’s rather funny in retrospect, but returning to the present day, when we last spoke you looked like something was troubling you. Trouble in grey paradise, Dave?

 

Karkat murmurs in his sleep and snuggles closer to you. You feel teeth graze against your earlobe. You smile.

 

TG: nah

TG: problem solved itself

TG: hey youre the theohorrorcratic expert

TG: what do you know about signless orthodoxy

TT: Signless Orthodoxy is not placed under the large umbrella of Theohorrorcratic Studies due to its rejection of the worship of the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors. It is more of a hybrid religion; the closest analogy to its origins would be an interracial child in a large conservative family that lives in another foreign land as Signless Orthodoxy is only indicative to our world. It is a product of New Earth’s cultural environment.

TG: okay

TG: interracial

TT: An archaic term from Old Earth, meaning someone’s genetic history is mixed. The term became obsolete after the destruction of Old Earth and during the space years when the idea of nations and race became hard to distinguish and intermarriages became more common. Thus why race and precise lineage is very hard to detect nowadays.

TG: yeah were all ambiguous shades of brown lalonde

TG: more on signless orthodoxy please

TT: The history of Signless Orthodoxy can be traced back to the first human-troll interactions back in the 2020s. At this time some humans still practiced an archaic religion known as Christianity but due to time and a lack of proper sources, Christianity had become very…frayed. Thus the introduction and exposure to alien cultures and religion was very infectious. Tome soon replaced the Bible and Signless symbols populated the land instead of crosses.

TT: Of course not everything from the religion’s Judeo-Christian roots could be erased. Sainthood is still practiced and the High Priestess of Signless Orthodoxy is treated and revered very much like how the Pope was back on Old Earth.

TT: Certain figures in Signless Orthodoxy and off-shoot cults bear resemblance to others in archaic Christianity. You could easily draw comparison between the Angel of Double Death and the Anti-Christ, the Consort of Causality and The Whore of Babylon, the Prince of Pitch and Lies and Lucifer, and the God of Blood and Haze and The Mother of Abominations.

 

 

TT: You could also make the argument that the pagan deities of non-humanoid paganism bare resemblance to that of human pagan deities such as the Greek gods. There have been many comparisons between the God of Blood and Haze and Zeus and the God of Time’s Clockworks and Hades.

TG: okay rose

TG: this is interesting and all but not at all what im asking

It’s not interesting in the _slightest_ actually. You’re straining to keep your eyes open reading Lalonde’s giant wall of text concerning things you do not give two shits about.

 

TG: im mainly asking about the signless

TT: What about him?

TG: what are the odds of him having descendants?

TT: It depends on whose story you believe concerning that subject.

TT: According to the Tome and official stance of the Signless Orthodox Church, the Signless was sent down to Alternia from the heavens as the savior of the universe. The Dolorsoa gave virgin birth to his egg and with divine protection, raised him in the wilderness where he performed miracles and learned to commune with all the wild beasts. He could even stand the light of Alternian’s fierce sun despite being a mutantblood. The Signless, however, felt compassion for all living creatures and went out into the world to preach where he developed quite the following among the oppressed warmbloods of Alternian.  

TT: One day the Signless received a vision of the planet’s future destruction. He journeyed to the empire’s capital with his followers and tried to approach the old empress of Alternia, the Condesce. His warning was not heeded and he was killed for his teachings instead. Outraged, the heavens rained down fire and molten rock on the planet.

TT: But the Signless’ boundless love for all living things was so great that he gave up his immortality to save a handful of trolls from the destruction of their homeworld. No longer immortal, he remains a spirit that drifts around the universe, protecting the faithful.

TT: However, this latter part of the tale is suspected of being doctored by the False Emperor, thus certifying his importance on his artificial planet.

TT: There are no officially documented genetic descendants of the Signless. Most mutantbloods of New Earth come from the False Emperor’s artificial planet, which used eugenics and artificial insemination to produce multiple generations of trolls in a short time, in lieu of a mothergrub.

TG: could you maybe wrap this up

TG: i dont want to be here all night

TT: In short, Dave: there is no evidence that the Signless has descendants or that he does not. It’s entirely unknown what happened during the False Emperor’s reign. Some historians think that the False Emperor was able to obtain a sample of the Signless’s genetic material and thus was able to replicate the rare mutantblood gene, thus explaining the larger mutantblood population on the artificial planet and on New Earth.

TG: alright then

TG: good to know that the answer to that question is so fucking complicated i will literally never ask it again

TT: John learned the same lesson when we first met.

TG: speaking of john we should all eventually hang out

TT: Hang out? Why?

TG: why not

TG: schools almost over

TG: next year well be seniors

TG: after that were all off into the vast shitty world

TG: so why not hang out

TT: I suppose you’re right. It will be summer soon. We should celebrate surviving another year of finals.

TG: exactly

TT: Are you inviting your mouthy little boyfriend along?

TG: no itll just be us humans

TG: humans talking about human things

TT: Like about how you’re no longer a swinging bachelor?

 

You stare at the lavender text. Then look at what you said just a few seconds ago. Karkat is still snuggled against you with his oppressively hot body. His body which is hot temperature wise and not the other way. You definitely meant temperature there.

Well, maybe not entirely.

 

TG: yeah alert the bloggers and what few newspapers are left

TG: another strider has been claimed

TG: although the tears may fall and the panties drop this strider has a short angry troll attached to him now

TG: who has probably permanently moved under his bed and wont go home

TT: How cute.

TG: cute is not the word i would use here

TG: probably fussy clingy and attached

TT: Which I’m sure you appreciate, as you lavish in that sort of attention. You would love to have hundreds of follows toss themselves at your feet, legs aquiver or just one really dedicated fan.  

 

Karkat rolls his head towards you.

“What are you typing…?” he mumbles.

 

TG: yeah

TG: but who wouldnt want that honestly

 

You put down the huskphone.

“I’m telling everyone about how Karkat Vantas wears Lopan Street boxers with Oskar the Troll Grouch on them.”

Karkat bites your neck, “I’m going to make a chatroom about how Dave Strider likes to watch Can Town cartoons old enough to be his grandfather.”

“I’m going to hang a bulletin off the school about how much Karkat Vantas likes it when I finger his nook.”

“You suck.”

“Shouldn’t that be you, Karkat Vantas, love to suck on my human dick like it’s the world’s best lollipop?”

Karkat elbows you in the ribcage. You roll over and pin him to the mattress. He grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you into a rough kiss.  

You could definitely get used to this.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I guess what you say is true  
> I could never be the right kind of girl for you  
> I could never be your woman
> 
> \- "your woman" white town


End file.
